"How paltry this country must appear in comparison with your own!" goes on the girl, longing for a contradiction, and staring at her little brown hands, the fingers of which are twining and intertwining nervously with one another, "How glad you will be to get back to your own home!",
"But why?—why? Is it because you love me? Oh, Mona! If it is that! At times I have thought so, and yet again I have feared you do not love me as—as I love you.",
"Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing tone folding her in a close embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they mend.".
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